


Pacific Runners

by jenuinelyy



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Brotp, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2570441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenuinelyy/pseuds/jenuinelyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minho is a talented Jaeger pilot, yet cannot seem to find a perfect drift partner. Thomas is a young pilot newly transferred to the Hong Kong Academy who lost his sister during a mission. Rating subject to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Link to preview: http://jenuinelyy.tumblr.com/post/101392228782/fic-the-maze-runner-x-pacific-rim-thominho-wip  
> Link to story on tumblr: http://jenuinelyy.tumblr.com/post/101819688552/fic-the-maze-runner-x-pacific-rim-thominho-wip
> 
> Hey guys~ This is the first part of the TMR x Pacific Rim fic. Any feedback will be very much appreciated :3 hope you guys don’t mind my writing style. Thanks to eienflower (tumblr user) for encouragement and ideas ❤️  
> Please leave some feedback, any kind is fine. It fuels my writing muscles :)

Minho doesn’t remember much about the day he lost his parents. He can’t remember what he had for breakfast that day, or even what he was wearing. And all the grief counselling bullshit he was forced to sit through just made him blank out even more. However one image would always stick in his head, and that was the repeated footage of his parents’ jaeger being ripped apart on international news stations everywhere, a close-up of his screaming mother, desperately steering what was left of the machine with her one good arm to avoid more damage to the city of Busan. Then the jaeger exploded. The image of the destroyed jaeger and his screaming mother became the symbol and platform for the anti-jaeger campaigns that soon followed, and Minho was dragged along as their poster boy (orphaned at 12 years old, son of Jaeger engineer and war hero! See? What good does war do you?!) 

How he managed to join the Jaeger Academy without killing himself was beyond him. Minho knew he had a temper. It wasn’t really caused by his parents’ death, although that was certainly a trigger. He was just tired of the fact that in the past five years, there had been no progress at all on finding a solution to permanently eliminate the kaiju. Needless to say, with his untethered snarky comebacks and his propensity towards punching before thinking, he had gotten into more trouble than he could count. But being that he was the now poster boy for the Academy (see? If even the son of the two murdered pilots, traumatized by what he’s seen, still wants to join the Jaeger program, it must mean we’re doing something right, right?), he couldn’t very well be kicked out. 

What he had told them was that he wanted revenge for his parents. Which was partially true, but he also believed that if someone like him wanted to make a difference in the world he’d be better off doing it by fighting, instead of sitting in an office writing anti-Jaeger slogans and building useless walls and trying to deal with politics. Turns out, Minho had a natural talent for combat and strategic thinking. It seemed that soon after he enrolled himself into the academy at 17, he’d been on a roll, excelling in almost every class. Then nearly two months in, he slipped up.

 

* * *

 

“Ow!”

“4 – 0.”

“You didn’t have to hit that hard, sir.”

“You think a kaiju’s gonna look at you and say, “Oh, maybe I’ll just take it easy on the newbie”? Get your ass back in line and tell Harriet to stop holding back when she spars with you.”

The girl, Sonya, lifted herself up off the floor and walked back in line, rubbing her shoulder, giving her friend Harriet a shrug as she joined her side.

Minho planted his stick on the floor of the dojo and said, “Time is almost up, so let me just say this: you’re three weeks into training and are no where near ready to spar with me. This isn’t a fuckin summer camp where you make friends and braid each other’s hair. So get motivated or get cut at the end of the first trimester. I expect more from you guys.” He looked down the line of fresh faces in front of him, “Sound good?”

“Yes, sir!” the class exclaimed in unison.

“Dismissed.”

The students relaxed their stances and milled about, gathering their belongings.

Among the chatter, Minho picked up of one of the boys’ conversations, “Why the fuck does he get to talk down to us, he’s only like a year older…”

Minho picked up a bottle of rosin powder by his foot and swung his bojutsu stick, sending it flying and hitting the boy squarely in the head, white powder exploding everywhere. The boy swung around violently, eyes wide with anger, shaking loose a cloud of rosin in the process.

“Oh I’m sorry, my hand slipped. If you wouldn’t mind not leaving until every last grain of rosin is back inside that bottle, that’d be great. Nobody help him.”

With that, Minho turned to gather his own stuff. After a minute, the room was much quieter asides from the huffy boy knelt in the corner, trying to scoop powder out the fissures of the floor.

“My, my, aren’t we in a good mood today?” a voice from behind him said with a distinct British accent.

“Oh yea, I’m so happy I might just kiss you.” Minho said snidely, not turning around. The boy behind him laughed lightly. “What’s up, Newt?”

“Nothing, I’m taking a break from the lab, just wanted to see how things were here.”

“Oh they’re just peachy. I love working with inexperienced wimpy-ass children who wouldn’t be able to find their noses if I asked them to.”

“Hey!” came the indignant reply from the boy in the corner.

“Shut up, or I’m going to make you lick it!”

“Woah there, tiger.”

Minho rolled his eyes. After a silent walk back to the equipment room, Newt spoke up as Minho threw the bag of sparring sticks and rosin powder into one corner, “There’s a newbie coming in this afternoon.”

Minho knitted his eyebrows together and asked, “Just one?” Minho had been there almost a year, and recruits always came in hordes.

“Not just  _any_  one. That one American wonder boy, remember? Top of his class when he enrolled in the Alaskan Academy, jumped in a Jaeger without permission when one of the pilots was injured, saved the day with his equally talented sister?”

“…nope, doesn’t ring a bell.”

Newt leaned against the wall as Minho closed up. “Well he’s coming, and I’m sure that Command will stick him with you, Plus he’s gonna have to spar you anyway. So you should come meet him. Make friends.” He said the last part jokingly.

“Yeaaah…we’ll see about that.” Minho scoffed.

As they walked together side by side to their rooms, Minho peered over at his friend. He walked with a noticeable limp. Minho frowned and looked away, but not before Newt caught his stare.

“Look, Minho…”

Minho’s jaw tightened slightly. Newt stopped him in his tracks, turning his around with a hand on his shoulder.

“It happened. Whatever, man. I don’t blame you and I don’t hate you, so you have to just stop feeling bad for me.”

“Newt, you could’ve died.” Minho said lowly, eyes fixed at the space next to Newt’s head.

“But I didn’t!” Newt exclaimed, causing a couple of turned heads down the hallway. In a much lower voice, Newt continued, “I know I can’t convince you of this, but this wasn’t your fault. And Ben wasn’t you fault either.” Then they stood in silence for a while before Minho heaved a sigh and clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Alright, man. I get it. I’m gonna take a shower. I’ll see you later.” And with that, he walked away.

“I’ll see you at 3, on the dock, yeah?”

“Sure, whatever limpy.” Minho yelled without looking back.

 

 

 

Newt smiled tightly and limped his way to the cafeteria for some lunch.

 

* * *

 

Thomas sat by himself in the aircraft, his right foot shaking uncontrollably as he looked down at his tightly clasped hands. He closed his eyes trying to calm his nerves, but all he could see behind the darkness of his eyelids were Teresa’s blue eyes, wide with fear, and her voice yelling his name. _Thomas! Thomas, get to the beach! Thomas!_

“Thomas. Thomas!” a voice shook him out of his reverie. He looked up to see the face of Command. “We’re almost there. 5 minutes.” She said. Her voice was low, with a certain magnetic quality.

“Thanks.” Said Thomas, his voice small compared to hers. The Command smiled, then left him alone again.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Newt sat at the corner table of the cafeteria, chewing at his cornbread. He thought back to Minho’s reaction to his limp. To be honest, he was glad he’d been withdrawn from the Jaeger program. His strength lied in information, and teaching Kaiju science and Jaeger technical know-how, along with tactics study. And that’s exactly what he’s doing now, teaching the freshly arrived recruits. Newt started stabbing at his bland food with a fork. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wish he were still well and able to fight, but he’d gotten over it soon enough. He just wished Minho would forgive himself one of these days. He put his fork down and leaned the side of his head on his hand, recalling the day he first drifted with Minho…

_Newt felt a cooling wave roll through his head and down his body. He saw images flash before him, memories that didn’t belong to him, foreign emotions attached to strangers’ faces._

_“Minho! What are you doing here you little meatball?” a man in a white t-shirt and khaki shorts picked him up. “Wanna go find mommy? Let’s go find mommy.”_

_They went through a door, and the woman looked up from her paper-strewn desk and smiled as they walked in, eyes shining behind her glasses._

_“Heya, you two, where are you off to today?”_

_“Just visiting mommy. Say mommy, Minho.”_

_There was a brief flash and Newt jerked slightly. He was a bit older now, taller, and it was cold. He was sitting in a windowless room, metal chair digging into his back, a hand was on his shoulder but it was unfamiliar and repulsive somehow._

_“Now, Minho, was it? I want you to tell me all you remember about your house. Did you guys ever go somewhere else on vacation? A cabin, or an apartment in another city? You remember where your mom kept her work?”_

_Newt felt scared, alone. “No…” he stammered in Minho’s voice, “I don’t—remember anything…where’s Ben?”_

_Another voice came through the intercom, “That’s enough, Janson, he’s only twelve.”_

_The man, Janson, looked at his watch then said, “You guys go home first, I’ll wrap it up.” He went to the door and peeked out, reassuring his colleagues. Then he came back in with a manila folder. He put in down in front of Newt (Minho)._

_“Kid, I want you to know that we’re the good guys. You think Jaegers are cool? Giant robots fighting crime? They’re the most destructive machinery mankind has ever made. And we need your mother’s knowledge to shut the program down. Now, your mother is dead. And so is your father. We just need you to tell us where they might’ve hidden that information, you think you could do that?”_

_A surge of defiance bubbled up in Newt’s chest, and he knew this was classic Minho. He heard himself say, “I don’t know shit. My parents were good at what they did. You’ll never get a damn thing out of me.” He felt a stinging pain and a sudden blindness as Janson slapped him. Then he yanked him by his hair, pushed his head down to stare at the contents of the manila folder. A picture of_ _his father’s mangled body indiscernible from a mess of metal that used to be a jaeger._

_“Do you see that?! DO YOU WANT THAT? You wanna become that, young man?”_

_Newt could feel certain nausea and panic rise up in his chest, threatening to choke him from inside. He could see his father’s eye, blind and lifeless, staring out of an open skull, his limbs crushed and sticking out at odd angle from different part of his suit. The flash of the camera made the protruding joints even sharper. The man, with one hand still ripping at his hair leaned in and whispered into his ear, “Why don’t you look at the next photo?”_

_Shaking and terrified, Newt (Minho) reached a trembling hand up and pushed his father’s photo away, then gagged, a cry of disgust and sorrow escaping his mouth._

_They had gathered the remains from the Jaeger explosion, including his mother’s body parts that weren’t destroyed in the blast. All lined up nicely in two rows, half a skull, a mangled hand missing three fingers, an ankle…Minho wouldn’t have known who it was if not for her name written on the picture in black marker._

_“You asshole…I’ll kill you…” Minho’s voice quivered uncontrollably. With that, Janson slammed his face into the metal table, then shoved him into the adjacent wall completely. Minho yelled out in pain but before he could do anything, Janson kicked him squarely in the gut, over and over until Minho couldn’t see anything but the inside of his skull as he curled up into a ball._

_“You little shit.” Janson hissed, spitting at him. There was silence as Minho gasped and cried, the man standing over him, panting. Then he felt a hand worm it’s way under his t-shirt and that’s where the pain kicked in, ripping into Newt’s head, snapping him back to his own consciousness. Beside him, Minho had his eyes squeezed shut, opening them repeatedly then squeezing them shut again, swearing under his breath. Red lights flashed on the screens around them, an alarm was wailing._

_“Minho, stop! I’m out, calm down!” Newt yelled._

_“Fuck you…” Then Newt felt a sudden pain in his left foot at the machinery moved in its own accordance._

_“Minho! Stop, ow, STOP, MINHO, it hurts! You’re hurting me!” Newt half shouted, half whimpered. Then, as suddenly as it started, it all stopped. Newt was panting, his eyes half shut, sweat dripping down his face. Minho looked horrified, chest heaving, all but tearing himself out of his connectors._

_“Newt. Newt!” he rushed toward his friend and disconnected him. Newt fell and landed on his right foot, lost his balance and landed on one knee._

_“Agh…my foot…agh..” Newt took several deep breaths, his hands hovering over his left ankle, face twisted in pain. _The other trainees rushed him quickly to the medical centre._   _But he struggled through his shock and exhaustion to keep his eyes on Minho as he was carried off.__

_Minho stood in the simulator compartment, head lowered, and, as if Newt was still connected to him, he felt Minho’s tears threatening to well up. But the tears never came. He just felt emptiness._

_What was he doing with his life?_


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so swamped I'm SOOOO SORRY. Holy shit it's been a month since I updated. I actually came up with a super long story line and how I'm afraid we have started a longer fic than intended. I've also been reluctant on publishing because I haven't been feeling too confident about my writing recently, but I gotta "pick my ass up and finish what I started", as Newt would say in the movie. I'm sorry guys, I'll def try to grind this out /)_____(\

_“Jorge.”_

_Jorge swivelled around to look at Minho, who had just walked in. “Well what do we have here?”_ _he said, smile failing to reach his eyes._

_“Cut the crap, Jorge. Where are you with the project?” Minho inquired._

_Jorge stared at Minho for a second before sighing and taking off his glasses, wiping it on his lab coat, “I’ve terminated it.”_

_“What?”_

_“It’s too dangerous.” Jorge stated, “Even Brenda says so, and she’s even ballsier than I am. Not to mention she hates your guts.”_

_“But you said that it was possible.”_

_Jorge stood up suddenly, “Yes, but at the price of your life, Minho. What is it with you?”_

_“Look, I need to get back out there, man. I’m the best at this, and you know it. But I can’t hurt other people anymore, and I can’t just sit on the side doing nothing instead!” Minho felt like punching Jorge’s face, hoping to wipe that expression of quiet sternness and concern off of that bastard’s face. He didn't need other people to dictate what he could and could not do._

_To his surprise, Jorge’s expression softened, “I understand how you feel. If there were a way program a single-pilot jaeger, I’d go for it in a heartbeat. But it’s just not possible right now. Especially not with the added workload lately from Command.”_

_Minho swore, then turned and stormed out, knocking over a stack of paper and tools on his way._

* * *

  

 _At this rate, I’m never going back_ , Minho thought as he stepped out of the shower, _fuckin’ Jorge._ Despite what he had said to the mechanic, Minho was glad that Jorge cared enough to not risk Minho’s life, a stark contrast to when they first met and immediately hated each other. He hadn’t seen him since that conversation a month ago. Minho wondered absently what that guy was up to.

Minho pulled on a fresh t-shirt and looked at himself in the foggy mirror. Besides the couple scars on his arms from combat training, Minho had no physical wounds whatsoever. He wondered bitterly why he got to walk away unscathed while others got hurt. He thought of Newt and couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt every time. His friend had broken his ankle badly and had had no less than seven IM nails screwed in for months, and even though it healed well, the limp was likely to never go away. Yet Newt had forgiven him. And then there was Ben.

Minho tisked and walked out of his bathroom when there was a sudden beep from his communicator. It was a message from Command:

 

_Report to the dock, 1500._

_-A.P_

Minho checked the time, then quickly threw on his bomber jacket, pocketed his communicator and hurried out the door. He strode through the cafeteria then made his way down into the docking area, through a small door from inside the hangar, stepping out into the ocean breeze. The day was overcast and grey. He spotted Newt standing with the lieutenant, along with many other instructors of the academy. It seemed everyone was dying to see this new boy wonder.

Minho strode up next to Newt and nodded at the lieutenant, who nodded back. He handed Minho a clipboard with the debrief and a few pages of standard testing charts. Then he said, “Command wants you to take this kid under your wing.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, “Am I gonna have to feed him and tuck him in at night?”

The lieutenant laughed, “Nah, just need to sing him the lullaby.”

Minho scoffed and gave Newt a look as if to say “for real?” as the wind started picking up and the sound of engines filled the air. They all looked up from where they were standing on the dock to see the aircraft hovering a few meters above the landing patch. The ramp lowered itself as the aircraft touched down and Minho jogged towards the opening door, two steps behind the lieutenant.

The first to walk out was Commander Ava Paige, her blonde hair done up in a tight bun, not a hair out of place even as the wind lashed at her navy blue uniform. Behind her, a boy about Minho’s age followed, his head lowered slightly and his eyes squinted against the wind, brown hair matted across his forehead. He wore a grey t-shirt and an army green jacket that looked a size too big on his lanky build. Minho looked down at his debrief and found a name: Thomas.

 

* * *

 

Thomas followed the Command out of the aircraft, his duffle slung over his shoulder. The wind tore at his jacket and hair, but through his squint he could see a small group of people standing on the dock. Two of them were right at the foot of the ramp, waiting for him. One was wearing a navy blue uniform similar to that of Commander Paige. The other was an athletic-looking boy with short black hair and strong arms who was looking at his clipboard, then back up at Thomas with an expression on his face that said he was not impressed. Thomas immediately felt a pang of annoyance. But at the same time, he felt a sort of fixation, the feeling of having to prove the boy wrong, that Thomas was something to be impressed about.

He made his way down the ramp as Command started talking to her Lieutenant. She then turned around, extending her arm out towards Thomas and said in her magnetic voice, “This is Thomas. He’s newly arrived from the Alaskan Academy and will be joining us here in Hong Kong to help us strengthen our forces around the breach. Thomas,” the Commander turned to face him, her other arm outstretched to indicate the athletic boy to her right, “This is Minho. He’ll be your mentor while you’re here. He’s our best and brightest recruits, and I think you two will work very well together.”

Minho, who was slightly taller than Thomas (or was it the hair?), reached a hand out. Thomas took it firmly to shake it, giving it a nice squeeze, trying to convey his toughness. He didn't know what it was about Minho, but somehow he made Thomas feel like he needed to prove himself.  
“Nice to meet you, newbie.” Said Minho, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a smirk.

“You too, Minny.” Suddenly Thomas felt his hand being crushed, causing him to flinch. Minho’s face hadn’t changed save for a hint of malice in his eyes as he spoke again in a casual tone, “It’s Minho.” And then he let go.

Thomas waited until Minho’s back was turned to massage his hand discreetly. Damn, that guy had one hell of a grip.

They walked toward the hangar, approaching the larger group of people, one of whom was a tall skinny blond kid who couldn't be more than a year or two older than Thomas. He was wearing a blue button up, dark trousers and a long windbreaker. He was definitely not a pilot, thought Thomas.

The next few people were dressed a bit more like Minho. Command indicated the lanky boy and said, “Thomas, this is Newton. He’s also one of our brightest. He teaches new recruits and is also one of the assistant technicians overlooking the pilots while they drift.” Newt gave Thomas a polite smile and shook his hand.

Then Commander Paige, seemingly satisfied, announced, “I’m going to leave you now. Here is your welcome packet with your first week’s schedule. Minho will show you to your room and maybe give you a tour?” Command gave Thomas a squeeze on his shoulder, “Get some rest. Dinner is served at 1800.” With that, she walked off with her Lieutenant.

The rest of the people took turns introducing themselves or acknowledging Thomas, welcoming him to Hong Kong, telling him how much they admired his strength and courage. Thomas didn't say much during all the introductions except for a couple of “Nice to meet you”s and “thank you”s. He only remembered a couple of names, like the woman named Ada who was the primary Conn-pod control instructor and the well-muscled shorter man named Albert, who was a psych analyst. Somehow they all seemed so excited to meet him, which made Thomas even more uncomfortable.

“C’mon greenie, gotta get you settled.” Said Minho swiftly, beckoning for Thomas to follow him.

He followed Minho and Newt inside, passing through the massive hangar. As they walked, Minho started talking again, voice echoing off the hangar walls. He was mostly introducing him to the place and throwing facts and rules at him, “This is the hangar. People usually don’t enter from here cuz there’s another entrance on the other side of the facilities, so you won’t see this place too often. Command told me to look out for you," he continued, "but I’m sure you can at least wipe your own ass and follow a schedule. Wake up everyday at 6, breakfast at 6:30, lunch at 11:30, dinner at 18:00, capiche? You do your own laundry on weekends, no drugs, no alcohol, yada-yada. Pretty sure all academies have the same rules.” They were now in the main building.

“Tomorrow you’re gonna start in the medical centre,” Minho went on, “so they can complete your physical check ups and clear you for training. Then you’re with Newt over here, so he can make sure you actually have _some_ technical know-how.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll only be a couple hours.” Newt joked.

Thomas nodded, too tired from the trip to try for any humour. He looked down at his schedule, furrowed his brows and asked quizzically, “So…I’m not having any classes with the other recruits?”

“You will, eventually,” Newt explained, “This is just the first week. I suppose they’ll put you with the third trimester trainees after you’re cleared for your basic knowledge and skills.”

Then Minho added,  “Although that will depend on how well you do this week.”

“Good,” Thomas said, relieved, “the last thing I need is to be isolated.” Thomas had had enough of the special treatment he and Teresa had been subjected to, and now that she’s gone, he couldn't think of anything worse than feeling secluded with his own thoughts.

“I don’t know,” Newt went on, “you’re pretty big news around here. I reckon you’ll experience being singled out one way or another.”

“Wow, can’t wait.” Said Thomas flatly.

“Hey, watch the attitude, yeah?” Minho warned.

“Sorry. I’m just tired.”

“That’s alright, get some grub, get some sleep, you’ll be up and running in no time.” Newt stopped here, “Well I’m going back to the lab. It was nice to meet you Thomas.”

“You too, Newt,” said Thomas. The blond boy smiled and walked away, disappearing down the hall. Thomas noticed a slight limp.

He continued with Minho in silence through to the cafeteria. Minho led Thomas right through the middle of the gigantic room, their presence turning the heads of several trainees, and the conversation soon turned into low whispers. Thomas had no doubt that they were talking about him, but whether it was about his recklessness or his loss he didn't know. Minho ignored them easily as he led the way, but Thomas found it hard to ignore the murmurs. He lowered his gaze to the ground and grimaced.

“Ignore those shitheads,” Minho said to Thomas, “they’re most likely gonna get cut at the end of the month anyway.”

“Thanks.” Thomas said, hitching the duffle higher onto his shoulder.

They arrived at one of the last doors in the long hallway. Minho whistled. “Damn, they put you in an instructor room.”

“What?”

“They’re bigger and have nicer showers.” Minho explained as he unlocked the door, “Plus you don’t have a roommate. I only got mine last year.”

“That’s….great.” Thomas said, trying to sound grateful but ended up sounding more sarcastic than he intended. He stepped inside and threw his duffle down. Minho stared at him curiously, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

“So what’s with this whole I don't want special treatment thing, huh?”

“It doesn’t say anything in your fancy clipboard there?”

“Well I know what it says, I just wanted to make conversation.”

“Well why don’t you stick to reading that?”

“Okay, greenbean, this is gonna be a really long and painful process if you don’t show me some respect.”

“Yeah, and why would I do that?” Thomas yelled, suddenly irrationally angry at his situation, “I was brought here against my will, shoved around and congratulated for, what killing my sister? I’m being told everything is going to be fine which is making me so _fuckin’_ angry because I don't understand what they mean by that because literally _nothing_ is fine! And there’s nothing to fix! You wouldn’t understand what _I’ve_ been through.”

Thomas stopped, heaving. He was now inches from Minho’s face, and now he could see anger building in the other’s eyes.

“Are you done?” Minho asked simply. Thomas was taken aback. Despite his cool demeanour, there was that venom in his voice again.

“I-I’m sorry…” Thomas said turning away, suddenly flustered, embarrassed by his outburst. He started unzipping his duffle, muttering, “I, um, maybe I just need…”

“Here,” he tossed Thomas the keys to his room and Thomas fumbled to catch it. Then he pointed a finger threateningly at Thomas’ face “and you better watch that attitude around me, Thomas, or I will break your damn face.” 

Minho tapped his clipboard in a tone of finality and backed out of Thomas’ door, making his way down the hallway.

“Minho, wait—” Thomas exclaimed before he could stop himself.

But Minho had stormed off, leaving Thomas staring after his retreating back from the doorway. Then after a second Thomas shut his door.

He let out a breath. He was finally alone.

Thomas pushed his duffle bag off his bed, crawled onto the covers, lay down and curled himself up into a ball. Then he closed his eyes.

  

* * *

 

He woke up after what felt like just ten minutes. He was just wondering what time it was, when there was a sharp knock on his door. Thomas bolted off his bed to answer it. It was Newt. He had taken off his windbreaker and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Thomas relaxed his shoulders a bit, but couldn't help noticing that he had kinda expected it to be Minho.

“Hey there, greenbean.” Newt greeted.

“Hey.”

“Whoa there, don't seem too keen on seeing me.” Newt said, feigning hurt.

“No, sorry, I just wasn't expecting you.”

“It’s alright, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Yeah. I took a short nap.”

“That always helps. Anyway, I’m here to give you the tour and some food.”

“Shouldn’t we wait til dinner?”

“Dinner? Tommy, your short nap was about four hours long, dinnertime’s over.”

“What?” Thomas said disbelievingly, “What time is it?”

“It’s 8:30. Here.” Newt shoved a brown paper bag into Thomas’ hands, “Oh and Minho forgot to give you this.” He takes out a communicator from his pocket and hands it to Thomas as well. “The time is already set so you won’t feel like a lost puppy.”

“Thanks.” Thomas stepped back from his doorway to let Newt in, opening his paper bag. He pulled out a turkey sandwich and an apple. Then he remembered his little outburst from earlier, “Hope he’s not still mad at me.”

“Who, Minho?”

“Yeah, I might’ve yelled at him.” Said Thomas bashfully.

“Don’t worry. That guy doesn’t stay angry for long.” Newt sat down on Thomas’ bed and looked around, “nice place you’ve got here.”

“You sure are making yourself comfortable fast.” Thomas said as he took a huge bite out of his sandwich, suddenly realizing how hungry he was.

Newt laughed softly, “It’s not often we get someone our age who isn’t just a regular recruit.”

Thomas half-sat on his desk, chewing thoughtfully. From what he could tell, Newt and Minho were about his age, yet they were also instructors. Which meant they were not picked as pilots, yet were allowed to stay as the regular recruits moved on and either got cut or became pilots. Thomas was sure that there were other geniuses that became instructors, but as of now he deduced that it was a very rare occurrence, and it dawned on him just how lonely it could get for them. He swallowed.

“So you think Command is trying to keep me here for good?” he asked the blond.

“Most likely, or else she wouldn't have gone through the trouble of picking you up herself.”

Thomas took another huge bite of his sandwich. Somehow he felt like something wasn’t adding up, but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He finished the rest of his sandwich in one bite and threw the wrappings in the bin before starting on his apple.

Newt stood up and said, “Alright, newbie, let’s give you the tour before curfew.”

They walked out the door and made their way down the hallway, towards the cafeteria.

“So about Minho…” Thomas started, biting into the apple with a crunch.

“Yeah?”

“What’s his story? Why isn’t he a pilot yet?”

Newt suddenly looked uncomfortable, “He…hasn't been able to find someone who’s drift compatible.”

“He doesn't have a sibling or family member who could…” Thomas drifted off.

“He lost his parents during a kaiju attack.” Newt stated.

Thomas was silent for a bit, then said, “Sorry, that was a stupid thing to ask.”

“It’s alright, it happened years ago.” He stopped and motioned to the far end of the giant room, “That window over there is where you get your food. You usually have a pick of western or eastern style cuisine, but to be honest they all taste pretty bland.” Then he motioned to the tables, “You can sit anywhere, but,” he indicated the middle tables, moving down the line, “That’s where all the jocks sit, then you got your Asian nerds, cool Asians, then there’s the plastics. Beware.” Newt chuckled. Thomas was confused.

“Mean Girls?” Newt asked as if that would’ve helped. Thomas looked at Newt as if he’d grown an extra eye. Newt held his hands up as if asking someone from above, “Am I the only one well versed in the classics?”

“Is that a band or something?” Thomas ventured.

Newt laughed, “No, no, it’s a movie. Don’t worry about it, it’s older than either one of us.”

“Oh no, that’s way too old then.” Thomas commented.

They continued past the cafeteria into the hallway that led to the hangar on one side and on the other, the hallway through which Newt went last time they spoke. At the end of the hall was a thick metal door that slid open when Newt pressed a key card to a sensor panel beside it. “Don’t worry, it’s not nearly as super-top-secret-agent-ish as it looks.”

Thomas smiled slightly. Newt had an easiness and warmth that made him feel safe.

The room was huge but crammed with large water tanks filled with what Thomas assumed was preservative fluids with kaiju-bits-and-pieces suspended inside. The left wall was lined with computers where three women in lab coats typed away furiously while the far right was lined with long stainless steel lab tables where dozens of machines whirred and what looked like thousands of tiny test tubes glistened with blue or green or brownish coloured liquids. In the middle of the room, two guys were observing one of the kaiju-bits up close, taking notes.

“These are the labs. This is where I live essentially. We gather kaiju corpse samples, study cell behaviour, the works. Then there’s a classroom next door where I teach.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It’s more fun than you think.” He remarked as they left the lab through the same doors. Then as an afterthought, the blond said, “Although you pilot types probably like the thrill of action instead.”

“Ha, yeah. To be honest, I’d probably break half those test tubes just trying to walk through the lab.”

After a moment of silent walking, Thomas asked, “What about you?”

“Me what?”

“Why aren’t you a pilot?”

“I found out I didn’t want to be one halfway through the program.”

“That’s it?” Thomas was sceptical.

“You always this curious?”

Thomas shrugged, “Yeah I guess.”

“Another day, Tommy, I’m not _that_ comfortable yet.”

Newt led him down the hall and up two flights of stairs. Thomas noticed Newt using the railing to support himself on some of the steps. He was just about to ask him about his limp when a voice called out, “Newt! Shouldn’t you be using the elevator?”

Both boys glanced up at the person at the top of the stairs. It was the psych analyst Thomas was introduced to on the dock. He was stocky, his muscles visible even under his lab coat. What was his name again…?

“Hey Alby. I’m fine, doesn't hurt much today.”

Nevertheless, the older boy marched down a couple steps and put an arm around Newt’s waist, supporting the slimmer boys’ weight. Newt seemed relieved yet embarrassed at the same time and Thomas just looked on, amused. When they were at the top of the stairs Alby let go but remained close to Newt. He turned to Thomas and said, “Hi, Thomas. How’s your first day?”

“Uneventful so far. Saw some kaiju balls downstairs, though.”

Alby laughed, “Good to see you’re in a better mood. You had the largest scowl on your face when you stepped off that plane. Is Newt giving you the tour?”

“Yeah, still gotta show him your territory.” Newt injected.

Alby nodded, “Good timing, some of us are wrapping up so there aren’t many people left. I’ll show you around.”

“Again?” Newt said, rolling his eyes jokingly. Alby just smiled and placed his hand on Newt’s back to lead him along.

The room was just as large as the lab downstairs, except this place had white walls and bright florescent lights that were reflected strongly by the pristine white floors. There were about five rooms along one side of the room, all with large thick windows that looked into identical small chambers with what looked like a cross between a dental chair and a therapist’s couch in each of them. Next to the chairs in each were compact machines with transparent headpieces and large LED computer screens. The main room was made up of four rows of long workstations, each with its own large retina display screens. All workspaces were neatly organized except for one near the front end of the room.

The three of them walked past this desk while Alby was explaining how they take a couple of students into the room with the dentist-therapist chairs when it was time to do their psych evaluations. Thomas tuned out as Newt and Alby started talking about some guy who had a crazy idea to drift with a kaiju brain. He peered absentmindedly at some folders lying on the desk. Something caught his eye. A name, in black type _. Minho C_. Curiosity got the best of him as he reached out and pulled the folder out from under the pile, opening it. His eyes widened. Behind Minho’s file, there were two others. One was of a blond pale boy, a year older than Minho, with a thin face and short hair, named Ben. The other one was Newt. Both of them had the word “unqualified” stamped in red across their profiles.

Suddenly, a small bespectacled woman rushed in from nowhere, grabbed all the files from the table including the one in Thomas’ hands, “Hey, give that here! Asshole.” She gave him a disapproving look before rushing back out.

Thomas stared after her, stunned, “What’s up with her?” he asked.

“Brenda’s always like that.” It was Alby, “When she’s working, she literally does not stop. You also shouldn't be touching her stuff.”

“Yeah, but she shouldn't have left it out like that.”

“Don’t file-shame her,” Alby kidded, “And you’re way too nosy for your own good.”

“I thought everything’s on computers now.” Thomas wondered.

“We tried to convince her to convert to digital files like we did, but she prefers working with hard copies,” Alby shrugged, “spends almost all her time in the filing room.”

Then Alby proceeded to escort Newt and Thomas out of the psychology department with a nod at Thomas and a “I’ll see you soon” to Newt.

As they two younger boys continued on, Thomas decided not to tell Newt about what he had seen in the file. It seemed that there were some things that the blond didn’t want him to know.

The rest of the tour went by uneventfully. They went through the pilot training facilities and the two dojos where recruits were trained for combat. Then they were back in the dormitory section.

“That’s pretty much it. The upper floors are off limits, but other than that…” Newt gestured vaguely to the air around them.

“Thank you, Newt.” Thomas said.

“Anytime, Tommy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Thomas retreated into his bedroom as Newt limped his way down the hallway, disappearing around a corner.

  

* * *

 

Minho sat down on his bed, exhausted after three days of non-stop training. Somehow the academy drafted a lot more trainees this year, almost twice the usual amount. Minho had tried to communicate this to Command, but the only answer he got was that the kaiju emergency was converging at a critical stage. Even so, more trainees did not mean more qualified pilots; it just meant more work for Minho.

After taking a huge gulp of water, he reached for his new schedule when he saw Thomas’ debrief. He hadn’t had the time to think too much about the greenie. _He’s one rude ass kid, though._

He flipped absently through the charts. _Above average speed, average stamina, average strength, high flexibility,_ and in the notes section, one med-jack scrawled: _clumsy and flail-y_. Minho snorted. Flip. He passed Newt’s test with a pretty high score, knew his way around machinery. Flip. Minho doesn’t really understand the psych eval notations. Flip. A photocopy of Thomas’ bio from Alaska. Minho held the packet higher.

_Thomas Agnes._

_Height: 5’11” (180cm)_

_Weight: 152lbs (69kg)_

_Eyes:… blah blah blah…_

_Enrolled at 17 with twin sister, Teresa Agnes…_

_both excelled in standard trimester courses…._

_Thomas bested in agility, Teresa excelled in strength and stamina…._

_both above average intelligence…_

_seem to communicate without words*…_

_promoted to pilots at Alaskan Rift Security._

_Needless to say, seamlessly drift compatible._

_Note: *look into twin telepathy._

Minho kept on reading, skimming over the fluff and focusing in on interesting things, like:

 

_July 30 th 2024:_

_Hammerjaw breached through. Unforeseen attack._

_Solar Invader caught off guard, pilot Teresa killed in action._

_Thomas survives, entered into recuperation._

_Note: *look into single-man piloting._

Minho stared confusedly at the notes. He flipped the page, but that was it. Now that he thought about it, he had read the news last year about an incident like that. After what happened to his parents, Minho mostly stuck to reading the news rather than watching it, but he imagined that this would’ve gotten huge exposure when it aired. He could understand why Thomas was trying to avoid attention and the media had probably come up with a hundred different people to blame by the next day. Minho thought back to Thomas’ outburst. At the time Minho was just annoyed that someone dared get up in his face, but now that his annoyance had subsided, he suddenly felt bad for the poor shank. Minho sighed, stood up and tossed the papers back onto his desk. He stood there with his hands on his hips. Maybe he should apologize?

“Fuuuuuck…” Minho groaned, scratching his head.

 _Maybe I’ll find him in the cafeteria._ Minho checked the time. It was a little past seven. What the hell, he’s starving anyway.

 _Remember, be nice,_ Minho thought to himself as he walked out the door.

 

* * *

 

For Thomas, the past three days had passed in a blur. Thomas barely had time to talk to Newt during his standard testing and a whole day of physical check-ups exhausted him. By the end of the week, he was finally put in psych analysis, but as Alby wasn’t available, he was stuck with a boring brunette guy who didn’t speak at all except to tell him he was free to go.

It was the night before he was to start classes, and Thomas found himself sitting alone in the cafeteria, picking at his noodles unenthusiastically. Newt was right, the food was pretty bland. Thomas smushed his food, piled it up and smushed it again. Then he sighed and got up from his table, intent on snagging two or three apples to save for later (and to actually taste something nice), when he bumped into someone behind, knocking their tray to the floor with a loud clatter.

“Watch it, idiot.”

Thomas turned to see at a tall, mean-looking boy with a large soy sauce stain running down his pant leg. Behind him stood two other guys both just as tall and looming.

“Sorry, man.” Thomas said simply.

There was a pause as the other boy eyed Thomas, “Hey I know you. You’re that greenie from Alaska.”

Thomas started to feel uncomfortable as people began noticing the commotion, “So what if I am?” he said defensively.

The tall boy stared down at him, “Nothing, just wondering who died and made you king?”

“What?”

“C’mon, an instructor’s room _and_ you skipped entrance level classes. Nobody’s that good. Who’d you fuck to get special treatment? Command? Her lieutenant?”

Thomas stared at him in utter disbelief.

“I mean, I know you’re our miracle pilot and all, but—”

“Excuse me,” Thomas countered, “I happen to have piloted multiple times already. What have _you_ piloted huh, simulators?” Was this guy for real?

“Oh, you’re one cocky little ass-sucker aren’t you?”

“Look, I don’t wanna fight, why don’t we just—”

“Must’ve been one hell of a _good pilot_ to kill his own sister in action.”

Thomas snapped. “Listen, dickshit, I don’t know what your problem is—“

“Gally!”

They snapped their heads around. It was Minho, ambling over with a hand in his pocket and an apple in his other hand, “The hell you think you’re doing?”

The tall boy stared at Minho, annoyed, but remained silent.

“Get your ugly mug outta here.” Minho jerked his head in the direction of the exit.

“You’re crossin’ a fine line, Minho. You might be an instructor but you’re still a kid.”

“Yeah, well, I can still fail you.” Minho said with a sneer.

“We both know you’re not gonna do that.”

Minho narrowed his eyes, “Wanna try me?”

Gally glared at the black-haired boy, and Minho stared right back. After a second, the blond stepped back and scowled at Minho and Thomas before turning away and stomping out of the cafeteria.

“C’mon.” Minho said with a pat on Thomas’ shoulder.

Thomas followed Minho out of the canteen and away from curious eyes. “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t mention it.” Minho said curtly.

“Listen, Minho, about last time, when I yelled at you…”

“I said don’t mention it.” Minho repeated.

Thomas glanced at Minho, just in time to catch the other glancing at him curiously before he looked away.

They walked in silence for about five seconds before Thomas opened his mouth again.

“That Gally’s a real piece of work, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s actually a huge pussycat.” Minho replied, “Deep down inside that huge blockhead of his.”

“Hard to believe that, especially with those eyebrows. Was he born like that or did he staple them to his forehead?”

Minho laughed out loud, unexpectedly, “Better not let him hear that!”

They stopped as they neared Minho’s room, which was three doors before Thomas’.

“Alright, greenbean, remember my class early tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there. Thanks again for the—” Thomas motioned towards the cafeteria.

“Always ready to save a damsel in distress.” Said Minho. This time it was Thomas’ turn to laugh, albeit uncertainly.

“So you _do_ know how to smile.” Minho remarked.

“Yes, I can also shit, eat, sleep, and undergo mitosis…”

“Alright smartass.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Ok. Well…I’ll see you tomorrow.” Thomas turned his back and started on his way to his room.

Minho was about to do the same when something caught his eye. He stared at the back of Thomas’ t-shirt and with a sudden movement, reached out and pulled down the collar as to expose his shoulder. Thomas made an exaggerated choking noise and stumbled to a stop.

“What the hell?!”

“What is that?”

“What’s what? These?” Thomas turned his head to look at his shoulder. The scars of having Teresa forcefully torn from his side were still visible down his shoulder blade.

“Is this the—where the kaiju—” Minho said, staring at the imprint of jaeger armour permanently planted on Thomas’ skin.

“Yeah.” The American wonder-boy slowly pulled his shirt back up. Then he rolled his sleeve up to reveal the scars that extended down his arm, “I don’t think it’s going away.”

Minho had on this look, like he was struggling to think of the right words.

Then he said, “Must’ve hurt like a bitch.” Not his smoothest, he thought as Thomas narrowed his eyes at him.

But after a pause, Thomas spoke, “Actually, yeah. Couldn’t move my arm for about a month.” Minho was quiet, averting his eyes. “But I mean, it passed. The worst part was the mental damage, you know? Like half of your brain got ripped out and it’s just empty you know? It’s just…imagine if someone dissected your brain and took your memories. That kind of emptiness. Except it’s worse cuz the memories are still there, and that…last… image is like engraved on your skull.” Thomas looked up from where his eyes had drifted during his explanation.

Minho had a stern, contemplative look on his face, like he was slowly realizing something. Finally he said, “Yeah.” Then turned to walk into his room.

Thomas looked on worriedly, but just as quickly, Minho’s face changed back into his usual smirky-but-not-quite-a-smirk attitude as he turned to Thomas, “Tomorrow at 6 am, greenbean, or I’ma haul your ass out even if you’re buck naked.”

Then he closed the door behind him for the night.

 

* * *

 

Once inside, Minho picked up the debrief, skipped to the end and re-read the conditions of the incident. There were absolutely no details about how Teresa died.

So he fired up his laptop and searched the words _kaiju attack, twins, jaeger, death, Alaska_ , clicking on the first video, which was, unsurprisingly, from one of the news channels. Suddenly it was like Minho was reliving his life seven years ago, watching the screen as a familiar scenario played out. The jaeger was ripped apart as if the kaiju had targeted the cockpit, almost identical to the way his parents’ had been destroyed; the gigantic machine struggled, its once powerful frame broken, collapsing. _That was Thomas in there,_ he thought.

Then the footage became wobbly and blurry as the weight of the kaiju shook the city. Then it was back to the news reporters.

_This was the tragic incident that took the life of one of Alaska’s most celebrated pilot twins. But could this tragedy have been avoided in any way? Recent footage from inside the jaeger facilities has been leaked, suggesting an altercation between the Agnes’ just minutes before they set out on this fatal mission. Let’s take a look._

A new footage appeared, this time from a security camera. Thomas was in a heated argument with a girl with long black hair. There was no audio, but from their body language, Thomas was in a hurry to get Teresa to leave, and Teresa adamantly refused, sitting down in a chair and crossing her arms, staring sternly at Thomas. Thomas grabbed her by her shoulders as if trying to shake some sense into her. She buried her head in her hands, and Thomas’ body language softened as if comforting her. He then walks out of the frame. Teresa remained in that position for a while. Then she slowly lifted her head and stared straight into the surveillance camera. Minho paused the video there, but not before the next frame popped up:

_Twin rivalry? Did Thomas make Teresa pilot against her will?_

Not one of their best, but the media does have a long history of making people believe utterly untrue bullshit. Minho groaned. Was that what Thomas had meant when he said he killed his sister?

Then, a very unexpected and seemingly unrelated thought occurred to him. He couldn’t be sure about it because he hadn’t revisited the memory since that incident with Newt. He didn’t even know if it was important or significant. Minho recalled painfully the pictures of his mother’s decimated body parts. But…he doesn’t remember seeing any marks on his mother’s severed arm. 

Minho shook that thought from his head. Surely it was nothing.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HATE MYSELF I'm SO SORRY.

Thomas woke up the next day hungry. As he blinked sleep from his eyes, he rummaged in the darkness for his communicator, which glowed dimly in the dark. _5:56._ Thomas took in a breath of cold air as he sat upright, rotating his neck, working out some kinks. For the first time since he came here, he actually felt rested. And a little excited. Finally he was going to be _doing_ something for a change.

He swung his legs off the bed and quickly jumped into the shower. By 6:01, he had dried himself off, gotten dressed and stepped out of his room. The hallways were quite empty. Thomas walked up to Minho’s door and knocked loudly, the sound reverberating through the empty hall. No one answered, so, stuffing his hands into his pockets, Thomas decided to check out the dojos on the other end of the dormitory halls.

As his boots squeaked slightly against the metal flooring, he thought about Minho’s sudden change in mood when he asked about his scars. One minute they were bantering and the next, Minho had become distracted, like he realized something.

He turned the corner to see Minho alone stretching in the middle of the empty dojo. His back was toward Thomas as he leaned down to stretch out his hamstrings. Thomas stepped into the room, absentmindedly admiring the way Minho’s muscles moved beneath his cotton pants.

Before Thomas could say anything to indicate his presence, Minho greeted him, “Hey greenie,” while transitioning into a different stretch without even turning around.

“You’re up early. D’you have a nightmare about Gally and wet your bed?”

“Oh, sorry, were you talking about yourself?”

“See these guns?” the instructor flexed his arm, “I don’t think so. Have you eaten?” 

As if taking a cue, Thomas’ stomach rumbled loudly and Minho burst out laughing.

“Uh, yeah,” Thomas said embarrassedly, “I was up early and—”

“Yeah, I was gonna say, you’re up pretty damn early,” Minho stood up straight and walked to a small desk at the corner of the lofty room and handed Thomas a warm ball of white rice in a plastic wrapper, “Here, eat up.”

“What is this?”

“Fan-tuan. It’s the better version of a burrito. With rice.” Minho bent down to pick up several bo staffs and started to line them up against the wall.

Thomas bit into the fan-tuan. It was filled with pork and pickled vegetables and Thomas wondered if he’d ever go back to eating sandwiches again.

“So what is it, you missed me too much?” Minho said sarcastically.

Thomas swallowed and replied, “You said six!”

“Did I? My bad, greenie, that’s when _I’m_ supposed to be up and running.”

“Somehow you don’t sound sorry at all.” Thomas mumbled.

“That’s right. You get to help me set up,” Minho pointed at the rest of the staffs on the floor.

“Whoa, how many people are in this class?” Thomas wondered, staring at the massive pile.

“Too many,” Minho started scattering the equipment around the room, “the higher ups have been recruiting non-stop lately; all my classes are over-crowded. It’s been a real pain in the ass cuz most of these kids can’t fight for shit.”

Thomas dropped off the last of the equipment and turned around to face Minho, “That’s…weird.”

“Well, Command says it’s because the kaiju situation is escalating. But I’d rather see quality over quantity you know what I mean?” 

“Hm.” Thomas palmed the stick he had in his hand, gripping it. Then he twirled it around a couple times, “Hey, Minho.”

The other boy looked up from unzipping his jacket.

“Wanna spar?”

Minho raised his eyebrow, “You challenging me, greenie?”

“Hell yeah.”

He smirked as he took off his jacket, revealing well-muscled arms in a dark blue tank top while Thomas’ stare lingered for a second too long.

Minho kicked up the bo staff near his feet, twirled it twice and took his position, “I hope you’re ready.”

Thomas gauged his opponent’s stance and slowly took position. Then he went in for a head-on jab, which Minho blocked easily, then swiftly swung the back of his stick at Thomas’ neck. Thomas quickly blocked the blow. _Wow, he’s fast._

Thomas ducked underneath Minho’s reach but was too slow as Minho maneuverer his staff around Thomas’ neck into a headlock, body pressed up behind Thomas.

“Point.” He said smugly before letting go, stepping back and resuming battle stance.

Thomas massaged his throat, his cheeks flush, then lunged again aiming for Minho’s head.

With a loud thwack, Minho threw off the attack with what seemed like an simple lift of his bo staff, then he spun around behind Thomas and before the boy could turn around, Minho knocked him off balance by a slight push to the back of his knees and Thomas fell forward with a yell.

“Don’t lock your knees. Keep them flexible, you’ll move faster that way.” Minho was now circling Thomas, correcting his stance with a jab from the butt of his staff, “You put too much weight on your left foot” or “Your grip too tight. Keep it tight on the attack but be flexible throughout so you can adapt to the changes.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Thomas retorted, slightly offended by Minho’s analysis, “I _have_ piloted before, you know.”

“You lost a pilot, it takes a while to get your edge back.” Minho said simply. 

Then he dropped his stick and planted both hands on Thomas’ shoulders. Minho’s hands were warm and firm as they pressed down, “You also have a habit of hunching your shoulders when on the offensive. Relax or you’ll be dead tired halfway through training.”

“I never noticed that.” Thomas’ voice hitched slightly, and he hoped it was only noticeable to himself.

“Well,” Minho said as he continued massaging between his shoulder blades, “your muscles aren’t stiff, so I’m assuming it’s a recent development.”

“Minho,” Thomas started, “last night, with my scars—”

A snarly voice cut him off mid-sentence, “Looks like you two are getting cosy.”

Gally was standing at the entrance, along with a few other students, all trickling in from breakfast. Thomas instinctively wriggled out from under Minho’s touch and Minho remained where he was, turning his head to greet him.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Gally opened his mouth to retort but the loud rush of recruits entering the dojo made him resort to staring at them disdainfully before joining his two cronies, who greeted him with a slap on his shoulder as they walked in.

“Looks like our date just got postponed.” Minho said to Thomas, clapping him on the back of his shoulder before taking his position in front of the class.

 

* * *

  

The only office on the topmost floor of the Hong Kong Jaeger Academy was sealed off to everyone save two people. Commander Ava Paige sat behind her desk, facing the large floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the bay. The hazy light did little to brighten up the large room.

“It seems that Thomas has adjusted quite well,” she said, “I’d like to get more frequent updates on his well-being, as well as the relationships he’s fostering.”

“He seems to have grown quite attached to Minho and he speaks to Newton quite often.” Her lieutenant reported from behind her.

Ava turned her head sharply “In his lab?” there was a hint of urgency in her voice.

“Yes, but the lower levels aren’t handling Project Alexander. So far there’s no cause for concern.” He assured her in the same even tone.

Ava nodded.

“Although…it seems that Thomas has a tendency towards…excessive curiosity…what if he—” for the first time that say, his voice wavered slightly.

“Don’t you worry about that. He was prepped extensively before he was flown here and as far as anyone knows, the footage is real.”

At that moment, the intercom buzzed, and a voice came through announcing, “Ma’am, we’ve received the second shipment.” 

For a second, Ava remained still, then she swivelled around, “I want to see her personally.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“Thomas…” that was her first thought._

_She was cold, and her limbs felt heavy, yet suspended at the same time. She raised her arm, trying to reach for someone, but her movements were sluggish and her head was foggy._

_“Tom.” She opened her eyes. Or she thought she did. She was surrounded by darkness and she panicked for a split second before a blurry, dirty light undulated towards her._

_“Tom!” this time she opened her mouth, screaming his name, but her lips were numb and her vision began to dim again._

_“She’s conscious.”_

“Good, we’ll begin transplant in one hour.”

_“Thomas, where are you?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI, SORRY AGAIN holy shit how long has it been //cries
> 
> Seriously, every time I think about this fic I feel guilty, but I also just...see a lot of problems with it, but I figured I gotta learn to let go cuz nothing is ever going to be perfect right??
> 
> This chapter was short but I had to post it because it was really getting in my way and making my writer's block worse.
> 
> Feel free to give me a virtual slap on the wrist via comments or tumblr message >___>


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